


Battery City Rebels: Part One

by IndigoUmbrella



Series: Battery City Rebels [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoUmbrella/pseuds/IndigoUmbrella
Summary: Can I be the only hope for you?Because you're the only hope for me.Disclaimer: Title and summary is from The Only Hope For Me Is You by My Chemical Romance. This is a rewrite of a very old story.
Relationships: oc/fun ghoul
Series: Battery City Rebels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130018
Kudos: 1





	1. Begin Transmission

The sun was still high in the sky when she left. The rays beating down on the scarred planet scorched the broken cement and left ripples of heat along the horizon. Her legs ached. Her chest felt as if it had been ripped apart from the center and opened wide for the whole world to see. Blood had caked to her chin, leaving a trail flaking down to the front of her shirt. The heat was playing tricks on her mind. Making the world seem shaky and out of focus. Route Guano was bare and desolate. She didn’t know how long she’d been walking or if she’d ever get to where she was going. The desert was cruel, and it would claim her one way or another. It always did.

She’d run out of water two miles ago. The heat had softened the rubber soles of her tan boots, and she wasn’t sure how much longer they would last. She wanted to take them off. To feel the breeze for just a moment. But there was no breeze. The air felt still and smothering. Even her bare legs felt as though they were wrapped in a blanket of heat and sweat. The sun left blisters on her skin. It hurt to move, but she didn’t slow.

It was a quiet day. Quiet enough that she almost thought she imagined the sound at first. It was a distant, far-off rumble like the engine of an outdated vehicle. Had this been any other day, she might have tried to hide or immediately reached for the weapon, hot metal strapped to her back. She was tired, hungry, and thirsty. And wandering out into the desert to become buzzard food was more and more tempting by the second. But she kept going. She had to try, at least. Either the car would pass, or it would stop, and she’d have to dig around for whatever fight she had left in her.

The music was loud enough to tip her off that they weren’t Draculoids. It was too fast, loud, and angry. So when the rusted old Trans-Am pulled to a stop beside her, she didn’t know what kind of fight she’d have. At least the Dracs would have made clean work of her. She was too tainted. Too dirty for them to want to play with her. Usually.

So when the car slowed, she sighed heavily and reached over her back. She had the shotgun pointed at the driver’s side window before they even came to a complete stop. The man on the other end of the barrel stared out at her from behind a yellow mask. Worn to disguise his eyes and face from the cameras left hidden throughout the desert. There were four people in the car. All were keeping their identities hidden from her. None of them moved, save for the gentle breeze. Not strong enough to cool the air, but just enough to flip the man’s fiery red hair into his face.

“Retro machinery,” the driver said. She tried to talk, choked at first from hours in the desert with no water and no need to use her voice.

“It was my father’s,” she explained, fighting through the dryness in her throat. “It’s done a fair share of ghosting.” He reached for something on the floor of the car. She tensed, and her finger inched closer to the trigger. But when he sat back up, he was holding a metal bottle. He tossed it out of the window, and it rolled to her feet. She didn’t want to seem desperate, but she could guess what was inside. And she didn’t care about them anymore. Now she wasn’t just fighting to stay alive. But to keep herself from going for that water and drowning herself in it.

“You look thirsty,” he said. She didn’t say thank you. So he gave her a quick nod, putting his hands back on the steering wheel. “Later, Tumbleweed.”

Then he hit the gas, and the car peeled away. She waited until it faded into the warping heat before reaching for the bottle. The water was warm and tasted stagnant, but she drank half the bottle before being strong enough to force herself to stop. It had obviously been in their car for a few days. But she would have drunk anything at that point. It was liquid, and that was all that was important. She screwed the cap back on and slid the bottle into the single leather pouch attached to her leg. It held her handgun and the few explosives she could get her hands on before being run out of the church she called home.

She kept walking all afternoon. By the time the sun reached the western horizon, blinding her vision, the water was gone. Her legs stung, and her feet were wet with either sweat or blood. She couldn’t tell which. Days in the desert were murderously hot, and the nights were frigid and freezing. She didn’t think she’d last the night. The moment the sun slipped behind Battery City, the chill crept up from the darkness. She welcomed it at first, but the temperature continued to drop as the sky darkened. And when the last glimmer of sunlight left the sky, she took a sidestep into the dirt and collapsed.

She wasn’t sure how long she slept. Maybe it was only a few hours. Could have been a few days. She woke when someone rolled her over onto her back. Her eyes stayed shut. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly which feeling was the most dominant; the thirst, hunger, or just the heat radiating from her burned skin. Someone forced her mouth open before it flooded with water. And she woke instantly. She coughed and sputtered until someone grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her onto her side. She coughed a few more times before the water could make it down her parched throat.

“Easy,” the voice said, comforting as he patted her back.

“We shouldn’t have left her out here,” someone else spoke. Another male. She was too vulnerable. But far too gone to fight them.

“She didn’t seem willing to get in the car,” another replied. Three of them now. That was even worse than two.

“She doesn’t have a choice now. Wrap her in the blanket and get her in the backseat. If we leave her here, she’ll be dead by morning.”

She was enveloped in a sizeable scratchy blanket moments later. It smelled like cigarettes and dust and the scent of the desert that seemed to linger in everything. Then strong arms wrapped around her body and lifted her from the dirt. She held onto them. She’d given up now. It was life or death, and even though she was vulnerable, she had a better chance with them than without them.

“Don’t hurt me,” she whispered anyway. The man’s voice rumbled in her ear when he responded.

“We won’t. You have my word,” he said. But words meant nothing anymore.

The men maneuvered her into the car, and she settled in the back against the stranger’s chest. Her fingers stretched out from beneath the scratchy fabric and laced in the collar of his shirt.

“Where is he?” she whispered.

“Where is who?”

The engine caught, and the car began to move forward. Loud. Old. Fast.

“My father.”

“You were alone.”

“He’ll be worried.”

“Get some sleep. We’ll find him in the morning.”

She didn’t respond. Her fingers went slack as the car gently rocked her to sleep. She was far too gone even to fear them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few things before we get started. This is a story that I NEVER thought I would put back up. I only started thinking about it again when we reached 2019 since that was the year the Killjoy music videos supposedly took place. But it's been such a long time and it's no longer a futuristic story.
> 
> However, I've gotten a few questions about some old stories and people have been asking me to put them back up or revise them. And I thought, why the hell not? Initially, I was just going to edit them for clarity and then pop them on Google Drive for people to have access to (so many of them are just... bad). But then I decided to just put it up. Who cares? Why not revive it?
> 
> The only problem is that it is, obviously, incredibly outdated. I wrote this story (and its sequel) back when all we had was the videos. At that point in time, there were no comic books. There wasn't a whole lot of info on this universe. And I just loved the concept and the ideas and made something of my own from it. I decided to just ignore the fact that it went off canon and just let it be what it was.
> 
> So I started posting it. Got up to chapter six and then I got Covid, yay. But once I was starting to feel better, I decided to treat myself and bought myself the Killjoys: California edition.
> 
> So now that I've actually had a chance to read the comics and understand this world a little better THERE IS SO MUCH I CAN WORK WITH. And even though I didn't intend to make this canon-compliant, I kind of want to see if I can do it.
> 
> So here it is.
> 
> If you were reading it before I took down those six chapters, sorry. I figured not many people were reading it anyway and I really want to challenge myself by making it canon-compliant. It's going to change a LOT of elements of the original story. But it seems really fun. So I'm just gonna do it. There isn't much changed from this chapter except the language (Indigo would not be considered a Killjoy yet at this point). I took down everything because I wanted to make a note of it and the Girl will be a more prominent character in the upcoming chapters. So I took them down so I can thoroughly rewrite it and include her.
> 
> But FYI, I am still very sick with Covid and writing is super draining. So I'm not sure when I'll have it updated again. I'm trying to push myself to get something done but Covid is no joke, friends.
> 
> Also, the MC is the OG Indigo Umbrella. I named myself after her. Not the other way around. She's not a self-insert. I just used the name for my username, and it stuck. Ironically, I actually did make a Killjoy-sona (so to speak) named Nine Lives. And that's the name I use for my art business. Lol. (And yeah, I've drawn Indigo multiple times. I share them on my Tumblr tag for BCR.)


	2. Chapter 2

"She's dehydrated," someone was saying. "Water won't be much help if she's not awake to drink it. She needs an IV."

"How the hell are we supposed to get an IV?"

"We need to take her to Papa Midnight. He's more equipped to deal with this kind of stuff."

"You can't take me to Midnight," the woman croaked. Consciousness had been coming and going in waves. But she felt more alert now than she had the past few times. She'd heard voices from time to time. Felt someone check on her. Once or twice, she thought she even heard the excitement of a small child. This was the first time she felt strong enough to speak.

Someone was sitting on the bed beside her. She felt the old mattress shift and creak from nervous energy. There was a blanket draped over her, but her body felt hot and uncomfortable beneath it. Heat radiated off of the stranger, even though the fabric. She got her eyes opened and looked directly into the face of a curious child.

"What the hell?" she whispered.

"She's awake!" the girl exclaimed, turning back to the four men as if they couldn't see it themselves. The closest one smiled with affection. Too kind to point out that he was aware the woman was awake.

"Why can't we take you to Midnight?" he asked, moving closer to the bed. It was the four men from the old car she'd seen earlier in the day—the ones who'd given her water and then left her there in the dust. The one closest to her had tattoos on every inch of his arms. His dark, overgrown hair had fallen in his face.

"Because he's dead," the woman answered. She tried to sit but couldn't get herself up. The Girl continued to bounce excitedly. But then she stopped, startled by the words.

"How do you know?" the man asked.

"I just came from there." The men shared looks between themselves, not voicing what they were thinking in the presence of a child and a stranger.

"Can you drink?" he finally asked. She nodded slowly. So he pushed away from the wall to help her into a sitting position. Her entire body ached. She felt weak and shaky. He handed over the same metal container, full again. The water was cold. Fresher than before.

They were in a small room with a single-window placed high in the wall. The sun was blocked off by a graffiti-covered sheet of plywood. There was nothing else in the room except for the bed and an empty plastic card table. The men didn't have their faces disguised this time. They'd brought her right into their den. There was no use pretending to have secrets anymore.

They'd saved her life.

They were all staring at her now, calculating in their own ways. The Girl and the one with tattoos were the only ones who got close to her. He stayed close as if he'd have to help her from falling over or dumping the entire bottle of water onto the bed. He had his dark hair tucked behind his ears. He rubbed the tattoos on his knuckles like a nervous reflex. The girl just stared with big blue eyes and wild curly hair. Like she was fascinated by the idea of other people.

"You said you came from Midnight's," another spoke. He stood on the other side of the card table. Untrusting eyes on her, gun still strapped to his thigh. He was the red-haired one who'd talked to her before—the one who'd given her the water. He was clearly the leader of their little group.

"Korse got him," she explained. Her voice cracked. Both from dehydration and lack of use. Her throat felt parched and scratchy.

"You sure it was Korse?"

"Positive. I watched him get ghosted."

"Why would they send Korse after Midnight? He's a Scarecrow."

"How the hell should I know? I thought Midnight was under the Scarecrow radar. He kept to himself. He never tried to start trouble."

"What were you doing at Midnight's?"

He studied her as if she was up to no good. No one went to Midnight if they didn't have a desperate need. He was the closest thing to a doctor they had in the inner zones. He stayed locked up in an old abandoned church so far off Route Guano that only a select few actually knew how to find it. He'd stitched them up plenty of times. He was the best resource for medical supplies, though they never knew how he got his merchandise.

As far as anyone knew, he only associated with one person on a personal level. His daughter, who he kindly referred to as his night sky. None of them had ever met her, only seen her handiwork. She was a demolitions expert. And while he may have flown under the Scarecrow radar, she definitely hadn't.

"I lived with him," she explained, blue eyes going glassy. She turned away and took a deep breath as she steeled herself for what she was going to say next. "I'm his daughter."

"You're Indigo Umbrella?" She nodded and pulled a chain out from under her shirt. The pendant was handmade like most things these days. But the symbol was familiar. An umbrella they'd seen hastily spray-painted on the sides of buildings she'd previously destroyed.

"Midnight must have had something Korse or BLI wanted or feared. I was there when he got ghosted, but he didn't see me, and I couldn't hear what they were saying. I didn't have enough time to defend him. He was already dead by the time I got to him. Korse didn't stick around once he'd done it. They already had him in a body bag."

"How did he manage to miss you?"

"I was hiding." He'd been to that church plenty of times. He'd never seen any hiding places. Nothing that she'd described. The church had broken pews and an old choir balcony. But she'd have been able to get to them quickly. So she was either lying or was privy to one of Midnight's secrets. He had a lot of them. But they'd never questioned it. Midnight was always willing to help. There was no need to ask about secret hiding places.

"Why?" he asked.

"I always hide."

"What about the blood?" He nodded toward her stained shirt. They'd found her in the desert with it dried to her chin.

"I came across a lone Drac just outside Zone Six." He nodded again. The four of them were still watching her silently, letting her drink the water and regain her strength. The Girl looked like she had a plethora of questions, but she kept her lips pinched shut tight. As if she was straining herself to keep them contained. Indigo was giving them more than they expected. But it was likely she'd be gone by the time she regained her footing. They'd ask the important questions first.

"We've all heard of you, you know? But none of us have ever seen you."

"You've seen me. You just didn't know it was me." She didn't sound proud of this fact. These weren't the words of a woman who destroyed with glee. But a woman who felt some remorse for the lives she'd taken. Even if they had lost their souls. Her skill with pyrotechnics was a necessary evil in an even more evil world.

"When?" he prodded.

"I know who you are. We run in the same circles, Killjoys. We go to the same shows."

"You're the one who took out the Dead Pegasus station in Zone Three last April, aren't you?"

The chatter and suspicions had gone on for months. Some even claimed they were responsible for it. But no one could figure out why the station had been taken out. They trusted the man who ran it. Well, not technically a man. A droid. Still, he'd never given them any reason to doubt him. Droids outside of the city tended to remain neutral. Unless they'd been programmed otherwise. But even that was dicey. The droids outside of Bat City were obsolete. Unable to think for themselves now that they weren't attached to the City's electrical system.

"The droid at the register was leaking information to BLI. They were planning an ambush that afternoon. There were bodies in the storage freezer. I found them by accident."

"Why were you digging through the storage freezer?"

"Listen, I don't ask what you do, and you don't ask what I do. The point is that it was dirty. So I took it out."

"But why hide it? Why not claim it yourself?" She took a moment to answer, studying the stucco walls and the lit lightbulb in the ceiling. They had power. She wondered if it was solar or a generator. Both things would be expensive.

"The Scarecrow fear most what they can't see," she explained. "I didn't do it for clout. Sometimes, it's better to remain unknown."

"Did you consider that they went after Midnight because of you?" She shrugged and took another swig of water.

"I don't know. Could be. But you'd think they would have waited around for me. But they just ghosted him and got out of there. If they knew who I was, they would have planned to ambush me."

After another moment of silence, the one with the tattoos finally spoke. He turned to her, eyes full of questions she hadn't answered yet.

"Last night, you said your father would be worried," he pointed out.

"I was disoriented."

"What the hell were you doing walking through the desert in the middle of summer?"

"I didn't have a ride. I lost my bike to that Drac, and I need to get to Bat City."

"Why?"

"Because I'm done hiding. I want to make sure the Scarecrows know exactly who I am."

"You're on a revenge mission."

"They took my father from me. I don't have anyone else. I want to make sure they regret it."

"There are a lot of innocent people in Bat City."

"Korse is my main target. I won't find him with civilians."

"You know that's a death wish, right? You won't make it ten feet from the train station before they ghost you."

"I wasn't planning on making it back out."

"Walking through the desert was a death wish too. You're lucky we decided to come back for you."

"I didn't have any other choice. I just need a night to recover. Maybe something to eat. Some water. I'll leave in the morning, and I'll pay you back in supplies."

"The morning started two hours ago, and you won't be going anywhere until you recover."

"I'm perfectly fine." He took the water bottle from her hands and stood up. He set the bottle down on the table and crossed his arms, daring her to make a move. The Girl looked back and forth between them, still keeping her questions on a leash.

"Prove it," the man said. She hissed a curse under her breath and moved to sit at the edge of the mattress. Her body ached, and her confidence took a nosedive.

"What are your names?" she asked, stalling. The redhead pointed to himself.

"Party Poison," he said. The one who took the bottle said, "Fun Ghoul." The other two were Kobra Kid and Jet Star. "And that's the Girl." Indigo looked at her.

"Do you have a name, or do you just go by Girl?" she wondered. She opened her mouth to answer, but Poison cut her off.

"She has a name. But it's not for you to know."

"Fair enough." The Girl shut her mouth.

Indigo's socks and shoes were gone; her feet were blistered and scabbed. She pressed them against the cold cement floor and winced. Fun Ghoul smiled as if he'd won a game. She decided to keep stalling.

"Whose room is this?" she asked.

"Mine," he said. Of course it was, she thought. He was the cute one.

"Figures." His eyebrows creased.

"Why do you say that?"

"It's nothing." Now she had a different reason to stall. She pushed herself up, and her legs protested painfully. The scabs cracked open, the muscles burned. She pinched her lips shut to hold back the gasp of pain. They were all watching her, and it made her self-conscious. But Fun Ghoul must have figured out what was happening anyway. He reached out to help hold her up.

"Told you," he said, propping her arm up around his shoulder. Then he swung around and scooped her up, bridal style.

"Put me down," she snapped.

"Is it ready?" he asked over her head, clearly ignoring her. If there was one thing she truly hated, it was to appear vulnerable to a group of strange men.

"Yeah," Jet Star told him. "It'll be unpleasant."

"Put me down, please?" she tried through gritted teeth. He finally looked down at her, face just inches away.

"No." She groaned.

She would have fought back as he carried her out of the room. But her body hurt too much. The Girl leaped off of the bed to follow them.

"Can I come to? Can I help?" she asked.

"You let Ghoul handle it," Poison told her, holding his hand out. "We'll get something to eat. How does that sound?" She couldn't hide her disappointment. But, like any child born on the run, she was used to disappointment.

"Asshole," Indigo grumbled as Ghoul walked her out into a narrow hallway. He only smiled crookedly.

"I know."

There was a small, dirty bathroom just off the center hallway. The bathtub was stained orange with years of rust. It was full to the brim with ice water. She immediately tensed and held him closer; his fingers dug into her back.

"You're not," she started.

"I am."

"Don't."

"Too late."

He dropped her into the tub, splashing ice water all over the floor. She sucked in a sharp breath and came back up swinging. She had every intention of climbing back out and strangling him, but her body shut down, and she could barely move beyond gripping the edges of the tub.

"Asshole!" she shouted. It was all she could get out. He leaned over her.

"You needed something to cool you down and relieve the aches in your muscles and feet. It's mixed with aloe. It grows wild in the backyard, and it'll help the sunburns. It sucks, but it'll be worth it in the morning."

"You're a son of a bitch." He grinned.

"You're not too creative with those curses, are you?" She glared at him, teeth chattering too much to get anything else out.

"Asshole" is still all she could manage. His crooked smile grew wider.

"I know."

"Where did you get ice?"

"Don't worry about it."

"How long are you making me stay here?"

"Can you still feel your feet?"

"It hurts."

"Then you're not ready. Your arms and shoulders are sunburned too. Get them under the water."

"No."

"Don't make me push you."

She wanted to fight back. To lash out and drag his head under the water. But she did as he told her. He had the advantage now, and he knew it. She lowered herself until the freezing water bobbed under her chin.

"I hate you," she said through chattering teeth.

"I know. I'd be shocked if you didn't." He reached into the water and pulled out a hand, examining the way her fingers had turned several shades. "Your nails are turning purple."

"No shit." He let her hand drop and then reached for her chattering chin. He ran a thumb under the swollen bruise on her bottom lip.

"Purple isn't a good color for you," he remarked.

"Mm." He smiled and let her go.

"You can come out now."

"Gee, thanks." He stood back and went for a towel. He tossed it over his shoulder and then reached both hands into the tub to help her stand.

"Shit, that's cold," he said.

"It's ice, you asshat." He just laughed and wrapped the towel around her shoulders. Before she could protest, he'd scooped her back up to carry her back down the hall to his room.

He set her down in the center of the room and made sure she didn't topple again. But she'd lost the feeling in her legs. It didn't hurt anymore, but she was shivering roughly. He ran his hands up and down her arms, trying to dry her off and warm her up at the same time.

"Sit down, and I'll bring you something to wear," he instructed.

She was still shivering when he got back but seated comfortably at the foot of his bed.

"These should work for you until we find something better," he said, setting the clothes aside on the table.

"How long are you making me stay here?"

"I don't know. Until we know you're not going to wander into the desert to die."

"Are you going to stay while I dress?"

"Do you want me to?" There was a moment where she was too startled to speak. It was a dare. A flirty one. And it instantly brought the heat back to her cheeks. She lifted a hand and pointed at the door.

"Out."

"You sure you can do it by yourself?"

"Get the fuck out." He snickered and pushed himself away from the wall. He was obviously enjoying this—more than he should be.

"I'll be right outside if you need me. Let me know when you're done."

"Fuck off."

When the door shut behind him, she stood and peeled her clothes off. The towel was rough and scratchy against her burned, tender skin. Her body was weak and shaky from dehydration and exertion. She needed more water. She needed a solid meal. But she'd die before she invited a man to help her dress. So she took the clothes he'd given her and pulled them on with shaking hands.

There were bat symbols on the pants. It was an image that felt at once familiar and foreign all at once. It was something from the old world. She couldn't remember the name of it. But it brought up images of dark masked figures and the pursuit of justice. The shirt, however, was clearly something from this world. A plain t-shirt with the words "Mad Gear and Missile Kid" scrawled out in rough marker. She set the wet towel and clothes onto the table and climbed back into the bed.

She wanted to keep going. It hurt less when she had a goal to focus on. She didn't like being idle because it forced her to think of all the things she'd lost. Midnight, her father, was the only thing she had left. And now he was gone too. It was probably her fault. She'd caused enough trouble with the Scarecrows for them to take notice. This wasn't a random killing to fulfill a Drac's body bag quota. This was premeditated. Planned. Someone in BLI had paid enough attention to what Midnight was doing to want to end him.

Then she wasn't so sure it was her fault. Midnight was invaluable in the zones. He healed wounds and injuries and kept people safe from both BLI and the environment. Of course, BLI would want him gone. With no one keeping the people alive and healthy, they'd have more bodies for their bags. They must be running low. Most survivors outside of the inner zones were learning to stay away from the city. Either that or the radiation was finally killing them off.

Someone knocked on the door a moment later. Ghoul was getting impatient. "Can I come in?" he asked from the other side of the door.

"Sure," she said, hurrying to wipe away the tears that had escaped when she couldn't hold back. The door creaked open, and he came in with another blanket, a bowl, a bottle of water, and what appeared to be a roll of white tape around his arm. He set everything down on the table and tossed her wet clothes onto the dirty floor without a care.

"I brought you something to eat. It's not much. Just some boiled desert plants. They taste like garbage, but unless you want canned dog food, it's the best we've got."

"How considerate."

"Plus, it should help you rehydrate. Sit up." She sat up painfully and weakly and pressed her back against the cinderblock wall. He climbed onto the bed before her and crossed his legs. "Here." He handed over a spoon and bowl of yellow broth.

"Oh my god. That's disgusting," she said, trying not to gag.

"I know. But like I said, it's either this or Power Pup. We have dehydrated potatoes upstairs but no more fresh water until we can make another trade. We have beans too. But again, no time to soak them. So take your pick."

It was easier after the first few sips. When her tongue adjusted to the heat and the chemical taste of desert herbs. When she finished, he handed the water bottle back out and waited for her to finish it.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" he asked.

"No."

"Then lie down." She hesitated.

"You do realize that this—isn't exactly an ideal situation for me, don't you?"

"I know. But what other choice do you have?"

"That's not exactly comforting."

"You know who we are. Have you ever heard about us kidnapping women?"

"No, but I've heard plenty of stories of women who disappear under mysterious circumstances. I don't need to know who you are to be cautious. You did pluck me from the desert and dunk me in a tub of ice. It's not exactly looking good from my end." He smiled.

"It was an isolated incident," he assured her. "We're four dudes with a little girl to take care of. We brought you right to her home. You needed help, and—Midnight was the doctor. Not us. We do the best we can with what we have."

"He was good."

"He was." She sighed and gave in. Her father had talked about them before. The four men he called boys. They called themselves the Killjoys. They, like her, had flown under the Scarecrow radar only based on the fact that no one could ever prove they'd done anything. But Midnight only ever had nice things to say about them. Good boys, he'd called them. Hopeful, he'd added.

He set the bowl down on the table.

"He loved you, you know?" he told her quietly. She was staring at the cracked ceiling now, mesmerized by the burning lightbulb.

"I know."

"We don't have much out here. Family is important—even the ones you make yourself. You were—precious to him. He was proud of you." He moved away from the table and took a seat at the end of the bed.

"I know," she said. It was obvious she was fighting the urge to cry.

"What happened to your mom?"

"We were all taken to Bat City. My um—my parents and my older sister. I had a brother, too, but he died during the wars. They did things to us. I don't—I barely remember the time before. Even though I was old enough that I should have." He nodded and picked up one of her feet.

"He never talked about your family." He pressed his thumb to the base of her foot. It was simultaneously painful and comforting all at once. He'd lived this life long enough to know exactly where to push.

"He didn't like to."

"Do your feet still hurt?"

"Sore."

"I'm gonna bandage them for a night at least. It'll relieve some of the pressure and keep the cracks from getting infected."

"What happened to my boots?"

"They were bloody when we pulled them off. Half the rubber melted away. Your socks are goners too. Unless you like them full of holes." She sighed. They'd been so hard to come by. She'd traded half a week's worth of supplies for a pair that actually fit.

"Damn."

"We'll try to find you something new on our next water run." He wrapped the white medical tape around her foot. His hands were gentle. She wanted to trust him. He seemed kind. It was the kind of kindness that came from being broken. From knowing loss. Not the falsely sweet kind that men used when they wanted to lure her to dark corners or the desert.

"Are you their healer?" she asked. He laughed as he focused.

"No. Definitely not. I spent more time with Midnight than they did. Someone had to do it. Can't always get where you need to go quickly enough. At least one of us needed to be able to deal with minor injuries and snake bites. Besides, we've all been where you are now."

"Fun Ghoul, right?"

"That's me."

"I think he's mentioned you before."

"What did he say?" She shrugged.

"He said that you were sweet. A bit of a hooligan, but he said it with kindness." He laughed again.

"Coming from Midnight, I know it's a compliment."

"Do you think I'm wrong for wanting to go after them?" He was quiet for a moment as he finished wrapping her foot. Then he picked up the other one.

"Wrong? No. But not smart either. Trust me, we're all on the same side out here. There's a whole city of people we want to liberate. But—we know it isn't possible. We don't have the resources. We'd tear the whole place apart if we thought we could do any real good."

"I don't—know what else I'm supposed to do."

"You can live," he said. "That's all any of us can do." He finished wrapping her foot and set it down. Then he stood again and turned his back to her. "You should get some rest. I'll come back later to bring you more food and water." He tossed the blanket back over her. It smelled like cigarettes, and there were a few moth holes. But otherwise, it was softer than the other one.

"Thank you. For saving my life." He nodded once in understanding. It was an unspoken agreement. You have my back. I'll have yours. He may not expect payment now, but someday, he might need an ally.

"If we don't take care of each other, we're no better than them," he said. Then he left her alone in the room, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the note in the previous chapter if you're wondering why I took this down to restart it.
> 
> In short, I decided to try and challenge myself by making it more canon-compliant and there's no rule that says I can't. So here we are. I decided to go ahead and start over from the beginning since I had to change a few details, like the language used and introducing The Girl a lot earlier. Since, according to the comics, the Killjoys raised her from birth. And she was born roughly around the time of the Analog Wars. Canonically, they were only teenagers during the wars. So at this point in time (a few years before the videos), they're only in their twenties.
> 
> And a reminder since I deleted the last few notes. Papa Midnight was absolutely named after the character from Constantine. But I can't remember WHY I made that choice. But I do remember people asking me if they could use him in their own Killjoy stories. So there may still be a few stories floating around the internet that include him as a minor character.


End file.
